


Crystarium

by Lagerstatte



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lagerstatte/pseuds/Lagerstatte
Summary: 'Noct,' Ignis says. There's a wet line of something on his forehead, reaching down across his face. A smeared handprint, too small to be either of theirs. Noctis drags his gaze from it, back to meet Ignis' eyes. 'Noct,' Ignis says again. 'You must know that what I'm experiencing is wholly different to what you describe. I trust you, however, and I’ll do what you say.'





	Crystarium

'Noct,' Ignis says. There's a wet line of something on his forehead, reaching down across his face. A smeared handprint, too small to be either of theirs. Noctis drags his gaze from it, back to meet Ignis' eyes. 'Noct,' Ignis says again. 'You must know that what I'm experiencing is wholly different to what you describe. I trust you, however, and I’ll do what you say.'

Ignis is dripping wet. He’s standing at the end of the trail of water that goes back down the corridor as far as Noctis can see. Noctis doesn't know what how to reply, so he just nods. He's not entirely sure this is Ignis at all, even if it sounds like him.

He doesn’t remember entering this place — long corridors, all exactly the same, tile and marble. He can’t tell how long he’s been here for, since his phone is dead and he doesn’t have any way to tell the time or date. There’s no way out that he’s found. Sometimes he can tell himself it’s only been a day or so. Usually it feels like years. He tries to count his footsteps, but he always loses track before 15,000. He’s definitely lost track of how many times he’s tried counting his footsteps. He thinks he’s going crazy. Or maybe he’s just asleep and can’t wake up.

They start moving again. Ignis leaves a trail of water behind him and makes the sound of something heavy, wet, being dragged. Noctis can't hear his footsteps, even when he concentrates and watches Ignis' feet. He thinks if they’re going in circles eventually they’d come back across the water Ignis is leaving behind on the floor, but they never do.

'Ah,' Ignis says, and stops. 'Can you — I think I can hear Prompto.'

Noctis can't hear Prompto. He looks back at Ignis, who has an anxious expression behind his glasses. 'Of course,' Ignis says, 'I may be imagining it. If you can't—' His head whips to the side, whole body tensing, and his hands rise like he’s about to summon weapons, though he doesn’t.

He looks like he's about to bolt, and Noctis realises losing sight of him and being alone again would be even worse than the alternative.

He grabs onto Ignis' arm. Water squeezes out between his fingers. _Are you sure_ , he wants to ask, but doesn't, because he already knows what answer he'll get. What he doesn't know is how much he trusts the answer. 'Do you think we should check it out?' Noctis asks instead.

Ignis hesitates. He's pulling at Noctis' grip, head twitching to the side corridor to their left, that Noctis hadn’t even realised was there until just now. It’s marble and tile, and there’s no visible light source even though it’s lit up, just the same as the rest of this place. It’s like a bad game rendering of the Citadel. 'I... I'll leave it to you.'

They go down the side corridor, Noctis walking with Ignis at his side, listening to his own footsteps echoing and the sound of wet dragging. He can hear drips, now, too, an unsteady plink-plink.

Prompto bursts into view, suddenly there from nowhere, and his eyes are wide open, wild with fright. 'Noct!' He all but scrambles to run up to them. 'Oh, fuck, Noct, buddy.' He's out of breath. 'Gladio — I have no idea, dude, but he just lost it and—' he pauses, looking behind him. 'Uh,' he says, and moves aroundNoctis, back the way they came. 'Anyway, shouldn't we, y'know, keep moving?'

There's nothing down the corridor that Noctis can see, but Prompto is already walking away, turning to look back at Noctis, and Ignis doesn't say anything. Ignis is sending glances at Prompto, and he's moved closer to Noctis, close enough they're almost bumping shoulders as they walk.

Two sets of footsteps, now, and the dragging and dripping. The corridor stinks of water, of saturated, dead rock. Or maybe that's what Ignis smells like. Noctis wants to shut his eyes, crouch down on the floor. Three sets of footsteps, and the dragging and dripping. Noctis turns but there's no one behind them. When Ignis touches his elbow he leaves a wet patch on Noctis' sleeve, icy cold.

'Hey,' Noctis says to no one in particular. 'Can you — sorry, stupid question, but who's here?'

'Ha,' Prompto says, an exhale of nervous energy. 'Don't worry about stupid questions. Pretty sure this place is seriously fucking with us.'

'Sure, just,' Noctis says, trying not to snap, 'answer the question, okay?'

'Just the two of us,' Prompto says. 

A moment later, Ignis says, 'I can only sense us two, Noct. But I understand there's someone else here?'

'Prompto,' Noctis says, then shakes his head when Prompto turns to glance at him.

Noctis is looking at the trail of water Ignis is leaving when he finally notices: wires and thin, flexible tubes, coming out of Prompto's heels and the backs of his knees, poking holes in his trousers. It doesn't take much to recognise that they're the kind of things on MTs. Noctis stares down at them, and at the way they tangle and trail on the ground after Prompto.

Noctis thinks he knows about Prompto's origin and what he could have ended up as. But whatever is fucking with them probably shouldn't. Which means what he's seeing is probably coming from his own head. Which means... he doesn't know.

At the end of the corridor there's a door. It's old, wooden, a little rotten in the corners. It's open, and Noctis peers through. Just another corridor on the other side, exactly the same as the one they're already in. Prompto steps through, a little cautiously, then turns and waits. Noctis follows. Ignis comes up to the doorframe, then stops. He shuts his eyes for a long moment, then opens them again. With a nasty, cold jolt in his guts, Noctis realises there's now two handprints on Ignis' face. He recognises them, but he can't tell where from. If he can just stop a moment maybe he’ll remember. He’s sure he’ll remember.

'Noct,' Ignis says. 'I know I said I would trust your judgement over mine, but I—' He stops to take a shuddering breath.

'Noct,' Prompto says. 'Shit. Come on.' There's an urgency in his voice. Noctis shifts his feet and wires brush his ankles. 'Noct, dude, close the door.'

'Noct,' Ignis says, very carefully, 'if you tell me to do this I will, but—' His words strangle themselves. His eyes are squeezed shut. 'Noct, please,' he says, a whisper. 'Please come back.'

'Noct!' Prompto's almost yelling, alarm turning straight into breathless terror. 'Shut the door — Noct, shut it—'

The door slams. Noctis' hands are on it but he can't tell if he's the one who pushed it closed or not.

A bang, and the door shakes; Noctis jerks back reflexively. Another bang, and another.

'Specs!' Noctis realises even as he's reaching for it that there's no door handle. He slams his fist against the juddering wood. 'Ignis! Are you okay?'

Prompto's trying to tug him back, and Noctis shoves him away. He's just about to pry at the door's edges when he sees something by his foot, and he steps back.

It's fingers, in the space between the floor and the door where the wood has rotted away. The fingers scrape at the ground, twist up and drag their fingernails down the wood, leaving scratch marks and trails of water. They're white and bloated and rotting.

'Ignis?' Noctis steps back again. 'Specs?' There's no response, save the door juddering, and the fingers continue to scratch.

'Did you — did you see Ignis?' Prompto's voice is a cracked whisper.

'I don't know,' Noctis says.

They stand a moment, and Noctis isn't sure if he's imagining it or not, but he thinks the fingers are getting longer. Prompto's standing just behind him, but the thought of even looking at him is unbearable. Not when he doesn't even know what he'll see.

'I think,' Prompto says, carefully, 'we should probably keep moving?'

As they walk away, Noctis remembers where he'd seen the handprints on Ignis' face. They'd been small children, playing in the gardens, and Noctis had wiped his muddy hands on Ignis' face.

'So,' Noctis says, listening to the echo of their two sets of footsteps and the quiet scrape of the wires, 'you said about Gladio?'

'Yeah.' Prompto fidgets. 'I dunno. He just went... crazy. Shouting. He was really angry. I know it's stupid, but I really thought he was going to hurt me. And I know he wouldn’t, it was dumb, but — I freaked and ran.'

They keep on walking. The sound of the wires starts to get drowned out by the hiss-clunk of MT footsteps.

Prompto's camera appears in his hands, then disappears when he shoves it back in the armiger. He catches the look Noctis sends him, then laughs, subdued, nervous.

'Honestly, I don't even want to take photos here. Who knows what'll come up on the screen? I just want to get out.'

'Yeah,' Noctis says.

Prompto seems almost cheerful, but Noctis wants to drag his feet, look back. He wants to stop walking entirely; he just wants to sit down and not have to see what's at the other end of the corridor. Should he have left Ignis? He's pretty sure that wasn't Ignis, but... what if had been? Ignis would never have left him.

Even if he'd thought for sure Noctis wasn't real, Ignis wouldn't have left him. Just in case he were real.

Noctis thinks, if he listens closely, he can hear the corridor behind them filling up with water. But that can't be right, since it's all flat, and they'd know by now if there was water spilling through that wooden door.

He can't stop thinking about Ignis, left behind. He doesn't want to meet whatever's waiting for him at the other end of the corridor.

'Dude,' Prompto says, and his eyes are the bright, hard red lights of MT soldiers. 'You all right?'

The hiss and clank of his footsteps becomes hiss-creak-clank. The wires are sprouting out of his elbows, the back of his neck. One is trailing down from where it emerges, wriggling like maggots, from the soft, bare skin behind Prompto's ear. As Noctis looks at it it's joined by a second and third wire, winding around Prompto's head, tangling up in his hair.

'I'm fine,' Noctis says. He looks back down at the floor in front of him.

'It's pretty freaky in here,' Prompto says, quiet. 'Ha, that kinda goes without saying. But you know I have your back, right?'

It sounds like someone's playing a recording of Prompto, and this Prompto is mouthing along to it. Noctis nods, head jerking, feeling like he's the MT. 'I know,' he says. 'And you, too. Always.'

He means it. Of course he does. But he still feels terrible for saying it when Ignis is behind them, trapped on the other side of that door.

It's hard to say how long they've been walking for. It feels like years and years stuck in this place, walking in endless loops. He's not hungry, or thirsty, or tired in the need to sleep kind of way, but there's an aching exhaustion settling into him, like growing pains. He doesn't need to sit down and rest, but he really, really wants to. Only the vague knowledge that he's only going to be stuck in here longer if he does keeps him from stopping.

The corridor opens up, spitting them out into a hall, and Noctis almost stumbles in the sudden wide space. It's dark, and there are pillars, all lined up like trees in a forest farm.

Prompto flinches, suddenly, with a whirr and tick. Noctis looks at him.

'There's Gladio,' Prompto says, red lights of his eyes flickering from side to side. 'Right? He... he sounds just as mad as before, huh. But he's not going to hurt you. He's Gladio.'

They carry on walking forwards in a zig-zag around the pillars, because there's nowhere else to go. Prompto hangs back further and further with each step.

'Noct,' he says finally, and comes to a stop. His voice is a cracked, tinny whisper. 'Maybe we shouldn't carry on. He... he really sounds...'

_Are you sure?_ Noctis almost asks, and he has a sense of deja vu so strong it's sickening. He presses his eyes closed.

He knows, somehow, he has to get through this, out to the other side. He opens his eyes, and Gladio is there, five feet away.

Gladio's tattoo is bubbling, like molten tar. His face is a wasteland of scars. He opens his mouth, and screams, and Noctis can't tell if it's pain or rage.

Gladio's sword swings; it's only a long decade of muscle-memory that lets Noctis jump back to avoid it. He rolls, pulling out his own sword from the armiger.

An MT shell falls to the floor, cloven in two, as empty as the nickname, the pun. It dissolves into black smoke.

Noctis looks up at Gladio, watching him stumble and the feathers of his tattoo stretch out his skin like there's something underneath trying to break out. Gladio's bare chest is heaving for breath. His snarl is utterly furious.

He's wearing, Noctis sees with dull, painful recognition, the Ring of the Lucii.

'Noct,' Gladio says, snarls, adjusts his grip on his sword. There's nothing but hate in the word, and the pain of someone who’s dying. Noctis drops his weapon, turns, and runs.

He's going the wrong way; he's running back the way he came, twisting between the pillars. He can hear the pounding footsteps of Gladio, echoing, and in the dark he can't tell where Gladio is — if he's behind him, or beside him, or overtaking him and will any second appear in front of him.

Noctis is sobbing, out of breath, his throat raw. The hall is endless. He can't find the way out. He can still hear the clatter of the MT suit as it hit the ground.

He doesn't want this. He can't do it. He can't — he can't—

There's a wall in front of him, a tiny, open door set into it, like the door of a child's playhouse. Noctis falls on his knees and crawls through, and Gladio's howls and wordless curses follow him.

He’s on his hands and knees and he scrambles around onto his ass to slam shut the door behind him, and it’s not Gladio peering at him from the other side. There’s armour, black and gold and draconic, a giant face.

Noct kicks the door shut. He's back in a corridor like the ones he'd been in earlier. He doesn't wait for the door to start pounding, shuddering in its setting; getting to his feet, Noctis starts running. He scrubs tears from his face, struggling to control how he’s shaking hard; he just wants to get out. He _hates_ this place. He wants to get out, anywhere other than here. It feels like he’s been trapped for years and years and he just wants to get out already. He thinks he’s going crazy.

Maybe it's an hour, or it could be a few months, when Noctis finally slows to a walk. He’d sat and waited to begin with, way back, but nothing had happened, and now he just keeps on moving. At least it’s something to do. And maybe he can find Ignis. He wants Ignis, and the comfort of him, desperately. Even if it isn’t really Ignis. He wants Prompto, too. He’d want Gladio, if it were _his_ Gladio. Not this one.

He just wants to get out.

This time he loses count of his footsteps somewhere around 12,500.

More time passes, walking and walking and walking, and Noctis gets the feeling that he’s not alone. He stops, just so he can listen without his own footsteps getting in the way. He can hear dripping.

He turns around, and Ignis' hands cradle his face, and Ignis' low, gentle voice follows him down as he crouches, clinging hard to Ignis' wet shirt sleeves. He's shaking, and Ignis gathers him up in his arms like he had when they’d been kids.

'It's all right,' Ignis says, and the smell of his breath is water and stone. 'I've got you. It's all right.'

They sit like that for a while. Then, eventually, every bone aching, Noctis gets up, because he knows by now nothing happens when he doesn’t move. 'Hey,' he says, and looks at Ignis' face – his milky left eye, the scars over his right. The tiny, wet hand print smeared over his face.

'Are you all right, Noct?' Ignis asks as they get up and, with nothing else left to do, start walking.

'I'm fine,' Noctis says, and listens to the sound of something heavy and wet being dragged.

Occasionally Ignis' head twitches to the side. 'Noct,' he says, after a while. 'You can't hear that, can you?'

'Depends what you mean by that,' Noctis says. 'But I'm going to go with no.'

'Ah,' Ignis says.

They keep walking. 'Hey, Ignis,' Noctis says. 'Why are you so wet?'

He's not sure he wants to know the answer, but he wants to hear Ignis' voice. Ignis doesn’t help by hesitating before answering.

‘As I understand, this place is heavily magical. Our perceptions of where we are, and each other, are… altered. The truth of our situation is going to depend on who you ask, I’m afraid.’

'Oh,' Noctis says.

'I'm sorry.' Ignis head moves again, listening. 'I wish I could have protected you more than I did.'

'Don't,' Noctis says. 'You did more for me than anyone deserves.'

Ignis exhales, and it sounds like heartbreak, true, and quiet. 'You deserve better than what you got. I'm only glad I could make up some of the deficit.'

'Yeah. Thanks, Specs,' Noctis says, because it occurs to him that he hasn’t told Ignis this yet. He touches Ignis' elbow, cold and wet under his fingertips. There isn't much more to say.

‘Think nothing of it,’ Ignis says, fondly, like Noctis is thanking gravity for existing. They carry on walking.

Some time later, Ignis pauses. 'Noct,' he says. 'I understand that what I'm experiencing is wholly different from what you are. I will trust your judgement on this, and follow you at your word. But I think you should know I can hear Prompto.'


End file.
